


6.09 "And I Will Show You The Man"

by Suryaofvulcan



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Virtual Season/Series, Warp 5 Complex Virtual Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-26
Updated: 2007-01-26
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8092372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suryaofvulcan/pseuds/Suryaofvulcan
Summary: Enterprise answers a distress call and finds a Klingon child as Tucker chases down a sensor ghost and realizes that Enterprise is being followed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Beta: Kathy Rose, Kylie Lee  


* * *

Commander Trip Tucker always knew when he was being watched. As he sat in the mess hall perusing the data on the sensor glitch Commander T'Pol had asked him to look at, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up and a cold shiver running down his spine. He carefully placed the PADD he had been studying on the table next to his now-empty food tray and raised his head to meet the brown, alien eyes, barely level with his own, that were regarding him with frank curiosity.

"Hasn't Malcolm told you it's rude to stare?" he said to the small Klingon child aged, Doctor Phlox had estimated, about seven, who was standing next to his table.

The boy shook his head, unruly brown hair falling into his eyes. He still maintained his curious expression. "You are Trip-Tucker," he said, seeming proud to have remembered the name.

"Yeah," Tucker said warily. He hadn't had much contact with the boy since he'd been brought aboard. That was Reed's department, Tucker thought, smiling to himself. His friend hadn't been pleased to be landed with that particular extra duty. "And you're Daroc, is that right?"

"Yes. Daroc, son of..." Tucker watched in horror as the boy's face crumpled and tears welled up in his eyes, and he remembered the two adult Klingons the MACOs had buried at the crash site: Daroc's parents.

"Hey, hey," he said softly, laying a hand on Daroc's shoulder. "It's going to be all right. We're going to find your family, and they'll take care of you." So far it wasn't proving that simple, but Daroc didn't need to know that yet. They'd tried contacting the Klingon High Council as soon as they'd found the boy, but they'd been met with a stony silence. _Enterprise_ had been hanging in space for three days while they worked through channels at Starfleet Headquarters and the Vulcan embassy, attempting to return Daroc to his people.

Daroc sniffed and straightened his posture. A warrior doesn't cry, thought Tucker. Even a seven-year-old, recently orphaned warrior.

"What are you doin' up here, anyway?" Tucker said. He looked around, but Reed wasn't anywhere in sight.

"Malcolm-Reed asked me to bring a cup of tea to the armory for him, but I can't reach the controls on the machine."

A grin had spread across Tucker's face before he could stifle it. So Reed had his own personal errand boy now. "Well, let's see if I can help you with that."

He led Daroc over to the drinks dispenser and ordered Reed's tea--strong and black, just the way he liked it. Then he glanced from Daroc's expectant face to the mug of hot liquid in his hand. "I think I'd better help you take this down to the armory."

* * *

They'd received the distress call three days ago, while passing close to Klingon territory en route to Denobula, where they were to attempt to reestablish diplomatic ties. It had comprised two words in a Klingon dialect, which Sato had translated as, "Help me."

"You're sure it's Klingon?" Reed had asked skeptically. His sixth sense prickled, signaling trouble ahead.

"Indeed," T'Pol had observed from her station across the bridge. "Klingons rarely call for help."

Captain Jonathan Archer had led the rescue party to the small scout ship they'd found crashed on a planetoid in an uninhabited system, but it was Reed, accompanied by a team of MACOs, who had found the sole survivor of the crash: a very small, very frightened child who'd begun to shoot at them inexpertly with a disruptor as soon as they were within sight. Reed had started off trying to be gentle and reassuring, which only seemed to make the child more terrified, but eventually he had silently instructed the MACOs to keep the boy occupied while he circled around behind him and pressed his phase pistol against his neck. He'd had the shock of his life when the boy dropped his weapon and threw his arms around Reed's neck, sobbing noisily into his shoulder.

"It's all right, you're safe," he'd said quietly, rubbing the child's back as he held on tight.

The boy had maintained his grip on Reed as he carried him to the shuttle and throughout the journey back to _Enterprise,_ but Reed had continued to talk quietly with him, learning his name and trying to glean what information he could about the Klingon family's journey and its abrupt end. All Daroc had been able to tell him was that they had been traveling to a new colony where other members of his extended family were already living.

In sickbay, Daroc had sat in Reed's lap while Doctor Phlox examined him.

"Well, Daroc, there doesn't seem to be anything serious wrong with you," Phlox had said, beaming his beatific smile. "Nothing that a hearty meal and a good night's sleep won't fix. Do you want to come with me to the mess hall, and we'll find something for you to eat?" Phlox was clearly looking forward to taking the young boy under his wing. He had often said he'd missed having contact with children during his service aboard _Enterprise._

Daroc had glanced up at him briefly, but then had shaken his head and buried his face back in Reed's shoulder.

Reed had smiled. "I'm pretty hungry myself. You could come with me if you like."

Daroc had hesitated, then nodded without lifting his head.

The captain had grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye as he watched the interaction between his armory officer and the child. "Looks like you've been adopted, Lieutenant. I think I'd better assign you to look after our guest until we can return him to his people."

"Sir..." Reed had started to protest. He had no experience of caring for human children, let alone a Klingon. He wouldn't know where to start.

"He seems to trust you, Malcolm. It's only for a few days."

Reed had felt the small hands still gripping his uniform, and he had nodded, deciding that a tactical retreat was probably the best option at this point. He would tackle his commanding officer about this again in a less public arena.

After discovering that sugary treats were just as palatable to Klingon children as they were to humans, Reed had set up a makeshift cot in his quarters and set about putting Daroc to bed.

"Are you a great warrior, Malcolm-Reed?" Daroc had asked as Reed tucked him in.

Reed had paused, wondering how to relate his many duties to this alien child's experience. "I don't know if I'm great, but I suppose you could say I'm a warrior. I was chosen by Captain Archer to protect the ship."

Daroc had nodded, his eyelids already drooping. "I want to be a great warrior too."

"I'm sure you will be." Reed had smiled to himself, remembering how this small child had held off three armed soldiers earlier in the day. He'd turned away, thinking Daroc was asleep, when the small voice piped up again.

"Will you teach me, Malcolm-Reed? To be a warrior?"

Reed had turned back to him. "The first thing you need to learn is that warriors need their sleep," he said gently.

"Yes, Malcolm-Reed." Daroc's eyes had closed for good this time, and Reed leaned back against his desk, gazing seriously at the child who was now in his care.

The irritation he'd been feeling ever since the captain had landed him with this assignment had abated a little as he'd stood watching the sleeping child, the small face peaceful in repose. Initially he'd felt out of his depth, more terrified by the thought of caring for the boy than by anything he'd faced as armory officer on Starfleet's flagship. Surely there were other members of the crew more qualified for this task than he was. But he couldn't deny that Daroc had latched on to him and seemed to see him as a safe presence in what must be a suddenly strange and confusing world, and perhaps that was reason enough to persevere.

All right, he'd thought, he'd do the best he could, although this was something outside his experience. If the captain wanted him to play foster parent, that's exactly what he would do. If a job was worth doing, it was worth doing well--no matter how daunting the task.

* * *

"Look who I found," Tucker said, stifling a grin for the hundredth time at Reed's strangely two-tone hair as he ushered Daroc into the armory. The blond had almost grown out now, and Reed had cut it quite short, leaving him with his original dark roots, topped by spiky blond tips. Tucker strolled over to where Reed was working and handed him his tea, and Daroc rushed toward a small workbench on the far side of the room and began to examine the dismantled phase pistol that lay there.

"Thanks," Reed said, taking a sip of the tea before turning back to his examination of the data from the alien artifact Tucker and the captain had been scanning before they crashed in the desert several days before. He was beginning to think it might have originally been part of a larger defensive system, but the data were incomplete, and he couldn't be sure.

"Are you sure it's wise to have him in here?" Tucker said in a lowered voice as he watched Daroc play with his makeshift toy.

Reed glanced over at him. "What do you suggest I do, leave him in my quarters all day?" he said in the same low tone. "The captain may have thought it was amusing to press-gang me into taking care of him, but since he hasn't seen fit to relieve me of any of my other duties, there's not much else I can do."

Tucker nodded. "All the same, isn't it a little dangerous with all these weapons around?"

"Every one of them is locked down and requires a command code before it can be accessed."

"What about that one?" Tucker nodded toward the bench.

Reed laughed softly. "It's an old Mark One with the power cell disabled. You don't think I'd give him one of ours to play with?"

Tucker shook his head in disbelief.

"It's a warrior culture, Trip," Reed continued earnestly. "He's interested in weapons and combat, and if there's one thing I can teach him about, it's that. And if he's here at least I can supervise him." Reed paused and wiped his forehead wearily. "Just remind me never to become a single parent."

Tucker looked more closely at his friend. Reed had dark shadows under his dull gray eyes, and his face was drawn. He looked done in.

"You all right?" Tucker said, his voice full of concern as he laid a hand on Reed's forearm.

Reed nodded. "I'm fine."

"Really fine or Malcolm-fine?" Tucker pressed.

Reed glanced to where Daroc was playing. The child was completely oblivious to their conversation. "He has nightmares. About the crash. About being lost and alone on a strange planet. And he misses his parents." He paused. "It doesn't help that they were shot down by their own people. How can I tell him that?"

"Really?" Tucker raised his eyebrows.

Reed nodded an affirmative. "The weapons signatures were definitely Klingon, but there's no indication of why they were attacked. The scout ship was barely armed by Klingon standards. They hardly presented a threat." He glanced over at Daroc again. "Phlox says he'll recover on his own in time, but in the meantime, I'm not getting much sleep."

"And no down time either," Tucker added, knowing how much Reed needed his solitude sometimes. Looking after Daroc was a twenty-four-hour duty in addition to Reed's regular job. "Tell you what, why don't you get Hoshi or someone to look after Daroc for a couple of hours this evening so we can hit the gym?"

"Believe me, I'd love to," Reed sighed, "but I don't think he's ready to be left alone with anyone else just yet. He's still quite fragile."

"Fine, scratch that. How about a movie? You could bring him over to my place, have a bite to eat...there must be something suitable for kids in the database."

Reed thought about it for a moment. "Thanks. I'd like that." He gestured toward the PADD in Tucker's hand. "How is your hunt for our sensor ghost coming along?"

Tucker frowned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Not well. Every system I've looked at checks out. Either we have an intermittent fault somewhere that I can't detect, or there really is somethin' out there."

"A cloaked ship of some kind?" Reed said, his senses immediately alert.

Tucker shrugged, shaking his head. "Could be, I guess. It's tough to tell with virtually no data. All we've got is an intermittent EM source."

"Still, can't be too careful. Give me a copy, and I'll compare it to our known Romulan contacts."

"Sure," Tucker said as Reed took the PADD and downloaded the data into his console. "It could probably use a fresh set of eyes anyway. I better get back to the bridge and see if T'Pol's found any more glitches. See you tonight, around nineteen hundred?"

Reed nodded, and Tucker took his leave.

* * *

Archer glared at the viewscreen. "What do you mean, you don't want him?"

"The boy's parents were renegades," the Klingon official said haughtily. "Fugitives from the Empire who ran away and hid. They were without honor, and so is he. No respectable family would adopt such a child."

"But...he's a child!" Archer protested helplessly. He had waited for three days for the Klingons to contact them, and now he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew that Klingons adhered to a strict code of honor, but he'd also heard that family ties were important in Klingon society. He found the official's attitude to an orphaned child utterly...alien. "What do you suggest we do with him?" he demanded.

The official shrugged. "Whatever you like."

Archer thought fast, presenting his best diplomatic demeanor, remembering what Reed had told him about his conversations with the boy. "We think some members of his family may be living near our current position. With your permission, we'd like to enter you territory and look for them." He smiled, projecting more congeniality than he felt. "This matter needn't cause you any more...inconvenience."

The official leaned forward, baring his teeth in a threatening manner. "An alien ship within our territory _is_ an inconvenience! I am sending a patrol to that region. If you approach our border, you will be fired upon!"

The transmission cut off abruptly, and the captain glanced around the bridge. Tucker, who stood by T'Pol's station, Mayweather, Sato, and even T'Pol herself stared at each other in stunned incomprehension.

"Well," said Tucker, finally breaking the silence, "who's going to break the good news to Malcolm?"

Archer, gratified to hear the dry humor underlying his words, simply scowled as he stalked off the bridge, heading for the armory. So much for their mission to rebuild alliances with those they had once called friends and make peaceful contact with new alien species, he thought darkly.

* * *

"So, what's the plan now?" Tucker asked Reed as they sat, one at either end of Tucker's bunk, after the movie had ended. Daroc was curled up, asleep, between them.

"Well, we can't keep him here," Reed answered in the same quiet tone. "And I don't much fancy sending him back to Earth either. Can you imagine it: being brought up in a completely alien culture?"

Tucker shook his head, agreeing. He couldn't imagine a human child growing up and going to school on Kronos. It would be just as strange for a Klingon child on Earth.

"Travis and Hoshi are going to reexamine the black box in the morning," Reed continued, "to see if they can find anything that might be useful. Perhaps they can reconstruct the ship's course. Daroc's mentioned his grandfather and an uncle, so we know he has family somewhere. It's just a matter of finding them."

"And in the meantime, you're still acting as his foster parent?"

Reed nodded, glancing down at his small charge. "The captain apologized, you know, for ordering me to do this. He tried to get me to hand Daroc over to Doctor Phlox, but it wouldn't be fair to do that to Daroc now. He's not some kind of sentient toy that can be discarded when he's no longer convenient, shoved from pillar to post between boarding schools and well-meaning but distant relatives..." Reed paused as he noticed Tucker gazing at him curiously, and realized that he had been speaking in a vehement whisper. "I'm sorry," he said more calmly, "I just don't want to repeat the mistakes my parents made. And at least the captain's assigned me some extra help in the armory now, so I can work a reduced shift and spend more time with him." He brushed his hand gently across Daroc's thick, dark hair. "Funny, I've never thought I was suited to being a parent before, either by experience or by temperament, but this...I don't know. It's rewarding somehow."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Tucker replied softly, staring off into the middle distance for a moment. "I just wish..." He stopped, shaking his head.

"Do you still want to have children some day, Trip?" Reed said softly, remembering the child the Terra Prime leader, Paxton, had created using Tucker and T'Pol's DNA. "With T'Pol?"

Tucker sighed. "Nah, that was over a long time ago. She's...it's not what we want."

Reed reached across and gave Tucker's leg a comforting pat. "But you always said you hoped there'd be a Charles Tucker the Fourth one day."

Tucker gave a brief snort of humorless laughter. "Yeah, I did say that, didn't I? But now...I don't know, Malcolm. After the whole thing with Paxton and Elizabeth, I'm not sure I'm ever going to get the chance to really be a father, y'know?" Suddenly he shook himself, his eyes losing their faraway look as he looked up at Reed again. "Geez, where'd all that come from? I'm sorry, Malcolm, I was supposed to be givin' you a break, not layin' my troubles on you."

"It's fine, Trip," Reed smiled. "Heaven knows you've sat and listened to me often enough. But," Reed rose from his seat and scooped the still-sleeping Daroc up onto his hip as if he'd been doing it for years, "I suppose it's time I took this one back to my quarters."

* * *

"I think I've got something."

Travis Mayweather glanced up at the hopeful note in Hoshi Sato's voice. The pair had been ensconced for the last few hours in the command center, working on the flight recorder from the downed Klingon ship. So far, they hadn't had much luck. Not only were the data heavily encrypted, but the recorder itself had been severely damaged in the crash. Mayweather had rigged a power transfer and constructed a makeshift interface, and now Sato was using her linguistic abilities to create decryption algorithms. It was a frustrating task, and they had no way of knowing whether they were failing to break the encryption, or whether the data were simply too corrupted to retrieve. Yet since reading the file Reed had discovered in Admiral Boone's office--which had made much of her decryption of Degra's files while she, Archer, and Reed were chasing the Xindi weapon--Sato felt a new confidence in her abilities, and she persevered. Somehow the thought of being approached by a black ops unit because of her linguistic skills was...flattering.

"There!" she said triumphantly, making one final adjustment to her program, and the decrypted data blossomed onto the screen.

Mayweather moved closer and looked over her shoulder. "It looks like navigational information," he said, tracing down the scroll of numbers with his forefinger. "Looks like they came from these coordinates," he mused.

"That's well inside Klingon space," Sato observed.

"And these look like pretty violent course corrections." He tapped his finger further down the list, and Sato took a look. The numbers didn't mean anything to her, but apparently they spoke volumes to an expert pilot.

"Evasive maneuvers? From when they were attacked?" Sato conjectured.

"Could be. They were really close to the border when these course corrections began."

Sato reached a decision. She punched the button to activate the communication system. "Ensign Sato to Captain Archer. Ensign Mayweather and I may have something, sir. Can you come to the command center?"

"Be right there, Ensign," the captain's voice replied. He arrived only a few minutes later, trailed by T'Pol, and the two ensigns quickly explained their findings. "But we still have no idea where they were headed?" the captain growled. "Starfleet wants us at Denobula--I'd like to get there eventually. And right now we're a sitting duck for any Klingons or Romulans who decide to drop by. We need to get moving."

"We could extrapolate the course they were taking before they were attacked," Mayweather said doubtfully, "but there's no guarantee that they were taking a direct route. This could have just been a convenient place to cross the border."

"Indeed," T'Pol interjected. "If they knew they were being followed, it's logical to assume they would attempt to lead their pursuers away from their intended destination."

"Evasive maneuvers make sense with these course changes," Mayweather noted.

Sato looked puzzled. "We think they were headed for a Klingon colony, right?" Archer nodded. "Why would there be a Klingon colony outside Klingon space? And why would a family be shot down simply for trying to visit it?"

"The internal politics of the Klingon Empire are notoriously unstable," T'Pol supplied. "The balance of power shifts continuously as allegiances between the powerful houses form and break down. They are universally intolerant of those who wish to live outside the control of the High Council."

Sato nodded understanding, and Archer sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "What's the range of that ship, Travis?" he said. "Is there any chance we could set up a search grid and cover it in a few days?"

"No, sir," Mayweather said. "Their ship was capable of warp 2. The area would be way too big for us to search on our own." He paused, his eyes lighting up as an idea suddenly occurred to him. "But maybe there's another way."

Sato and Archer looked at him quizzically.

"The Klingon colony's got to get its supplies from somewhere, sir," Mayweather explained, "and from what we've learned, it won't be from other Klingons. We're only a few light-years away from the ECS _Faraday_ 's trade route. We could contact Captain Xavier and see if she's heard anything about it."

Archer nodded. "Do it, Travis." He turned to T'Pol next. "In the meantime, let's resume our course for Denobula, warp 2, and scan for any likely colony sites along the way." He patted Sato's shoulder on his way out. "Nice work, Ensign," he complimented her.

* * *

"You said you would teach me, Malcolm-Reed!" Daroc yelled, bouncing up and down on Reed's bed. "You said you'd show me how to be a warrior. You promised!"

Reed could recall no such promise, but Daroc clearly remembered differently. Now that he had overcome his initial strangeness, the boy seemed to have boundless energy. He chattered constantly, asking endless questions about everything he saw, but most of all he harped on his theme of becoming a warrior, about wanting Reed to teach him to fight. It was the end of a very long day, and Reed was feeling a little frayed around the edges.

He opened his mouth to snap at Daroc, but before he could speak, a memory surfaced:

_"Daddy! Daddy, will you teach me how to sail this time? Please?" his own childish voice piped, as soon as his father had disembarked. It was a promise Commander Stuart Reed had made to his son on his previous leave._

_"Hush, Malcolm," came his mother's laughing tone, "let your father get home and out of his uniform first."_

_The memory of his father, tall and imposing in his Royal Navy uniform, laughing as he swept young Malcolm Reed onto his shoulders._

_And he did teach Malcolm, and eventually his little sister Maddy, how to sail their own small dinghy, how to read the waves and the currents and the winds. It had been a happy summer._

Reed sighed, glancing over at his bunk, suppressing a wince as he noticed the crumpled bedding spilling onto the floor. He's just like me, he thought, and I'm just like...

He reached a sudden understanding. Like most children, he too had sought the attention and approval of his father at an early age. In a way, it was exactly what Daroc was doing with him. Daroc's parents had suddenly been lost, and the child had chosen him as a substitute father figure. It made sense. The first time they'd met, he'd disarmed the little Klingon. Of all the crew members on board, Reed most obviously embodied the warrior spirit that appealed to Daroc's nature.

Reed remembered the times his father had gone away to sea for months on end. As an adult he understood that it had been necessary, part of the life of a naval officer, but the child he had been could still remember the disappointment and rejection he'd felt, and, conversely, his growing resentment each time his father returned.

As he stared into the hopeful eyes that gazed expectantly at him, he knew he couldn't put Daroc through that. He still didn't know whether he would make a good parent, but he resolved to do all that was possible to keep this child from suffering any more harm, emotional or otherwise.

"Come on, then," he said, rising from his desk and answering the grin that immediately lit up Daroc's face. "Let me get changed, and then we'll go to the gym and you can show me some moves."

Not much later, Reed was on his knees on the training mat, allowing his seven-year-old charge to pummel the pad he held against his chest with kicks and punches. He had to admit the boy had plenty of energy, and even some skill, but Reed wasn't even trying to fight back. If Daroc was going to learn to fight like a Klingon, he would need more than a static punching bag.

"Well done, Daroc," he said, laying the pad to one side and sitting back on his haunches. "But what would you do if your opponent was bigger and stronger than you?"

Daroc drew himself up to his full height. "I would still win!"

Reed stifled a grin at the typical Klingon attitude. "How?" he challenged.

Reed was fully prepared for the kick Daroc aimed at his chest. He deflected it with one arm and ducked to the side, catching Daroc as he lost his balance and lowering him to the mat. Daroc wriggled, trying to release himself from Reed's grasp, and soon their sparring session turned into a full-blown wrestling match and tickle fight.

"Do you yield?" Reed asked, finally pinning Daroc against the mat.

"Yes, I yield! I yield!" Daroc cried, giggling uncontrollably.

Reed let him off the mat, watching carefully in case the boy tried to take his teacher by surprise. "Now, would you like to learn how to tackle someone who's bigger than you?"

Daroc nodded enthusiastically.

Reed glanced across the room to where Sergeant Malloy was busy pumping iron. Malloy was over two meters tall and built like a brick privy. He was also one of Reed's advanced tai chi students, which made him ideal for this demonstration. He would know what to expect.

"Malloy, can I borrow you for a moment?" Reed said.

"Aye, sir," Malloy said, moving to join Reed on the mat.

Reed stood still in the center of the mat, loose limbed, weight on the balls of his feet, waiting for the attack, as Malloy circled him. Malloy struck when he was directly behind him, aiming a roundhouse kick at Reed's head. Reed ducked and spun, grasping the leg rather than blocking it, controlling the arc, putting Malloy off balance. Then he threw his weight forward, pushing the larger man down onto the mat and rolling over him, leaving him winded as Reed landed, catlike, back on his feet.

"Thanks, Malloy, that was a good one." Reed addressed the man who was getting up from the mat. He glanced at Daroc, who stood staring, wide-eyed, at the two of them. "That was a move from an ancient human martial art called tai chi chuan," he explained. "Now, it takes a long time to learn to do what I just did, but would you like to begin learning?"

Daroc nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Malcolm-Reed."

* * *

"Sir, I have an incoming transmission from the ECS _Faraday,_ " Sato said from her station on the bridge. "It's a recording."

"Put it up," Archer ordered, glancing up at the viewscreen as the image of a handsome middle-aged woman appeared.

"This is Captain Marina Xavier of the ECS _Faraday,_ with a message for Ensign Travis Mayweather," the recording began.

Mayweather glanced up at the screen, blushing at being addressed personally on the bridge.

"I'm sorry, Travis," Captain Xavier continued. "I'm afraid I don't have much information for you. We have supplied a group of Klingons on occasion, but all our business was conducted through the trading post at Darvell. We've never had direct dealings with the colony, and we certainly don't know its location." She shrugged. "I'm sorry we can't be more help. Xavier out."

Archer sighed, turning away as the viewscreen went blank. It was another dead end. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tucker, sitting at the tactical station, drop his head in a characteristic gesture of frustration.

Tucker sighed, looking up again. "I guess we could head for the trading post, see if we can pick up their trail?" he suggested.

"That's a long way off our course if it's another dead end," Archer replied. "Let's maintain our heading for Denobula and see what information we can find along the way."

"Captain," T'Pol drew his attention, "I'm detecting the anomalous sensor reading again."

"Still?" Archer turned to Tucker.

"I've run every diagnostic I know, and then some, Cap'n," Tucker protested. "There's nothin' wrong with the system--at least, nothin' I can detect. Not unless it miraculously fixes itself again afterward. Malcolm thinks there might actually be somethin' out there, but the energy signature doesn't match any of the Romulan ships we've met so far."

"What's it's location, T'Pol?"

"Bearing one eight zero, mark--" she hesitated--"one eight zero."

"Directly astern?"

"Yes."

"That seems like too much of a coincidence," Archer mused.

"Sir, we could try sending out a compressed sensor pulse in that direction," Sato said. "If it is a cloaked ship, we might get a reading that way."

"Do it," Archer ordered. "Aft sensors on main viewer."

Sato sent the pulse. They watched the screen anxiously as there was a flash. The image of a small ship appeared, just for a moment.

"I know that configuration..." Tucker murmured, fingers flying as he dredged the relevant information from the database.

"Hail them, Ensign," Archer said, nodding at Sato. She returned his nod to indicate that the channel was open. "This is Captain Archer of the Earth starship _Enterprise,_ addressing the vessel directly astern. Please identify yourself."

"Cap'n, it's..." Tucker began, just as the viewscreen transformed to show the image of a very familiar, very female alien, the first species they had met: a Xyrillian.

"Ahlenn?" Tucker breathed.

"Captain Archer, my name is Amaar," she intoned musically. "The woman you met six years ago was my mother, and I have come," she turned her gaze toward Tucker, "in search of my father."

* * *

Tucker stood nervously by the airlock. The decompression cycle was almost complete, and in a few minutes, he would meet the woman who called herself his daughter face to face.

The Xyrillians were one of the first alien races they had met, back when they'd imagined exploring was simply a matter of doing the galactic equivalent of wandering into someone's backyard and saying hello. That was before they'd even heard of Andorians and Tellarites, never mind Xindi and Romulans. It might seem as if a lifetime had passed since his first adventure aboard an alien ship, but in reality, it had only been a little more than six years. Could this woman have grown so quickly from the embryo he had carried?

As he thought about it, his hand strayed toward the left side of his rib cage, absent-mindedly coming to rest above the place where the embryo had implanted--Ahlenn's child. When he'd first discovered he was "pregnant," he'd felt bewildered and betrayed and, he admitted, terrified. All he'd wanted was to find the Xyrillians again and have the embryo removed--until the moment when Ahlenn had scanned the bruised bulge on his side and declared, "She seems very healthy."

"It's a girl, huh?" he'd said, intrigued. Suddenly it wasn't a thing any longer, a foreign body living within him. It was a baby, a little girl, and although she wasn't genetically his child, he'd felt a sense of responsibility and protectiveness and, unexpectedly, affection.

But it had been too late to change his mind--not that he'd wanted to, not really, but as the Xyrillian medic worked with Phlox to transfer the baby to a new host, he'd wished that he'd had just a little more time to talk things over with Ahlenn. It struck him just how little they knew about Xyrillian society. He knew that the male Xyrillian who'd agreed to be the new host wasn't Ahlenn's husband or mate. Who would take care of the baby once she was born? Would the three of them become a family? And how did Xyrillian families function? Would Ahlenn tell her daughter about her brief flirtation with the human engineer?

The sound of the airlock opening brought him back to the present.

"Commander Tucker," Amaar said as she approached him. "It's good to finally meet you in person." She held out both her hands, and instinctively Tucker took them in his. He felt the mild fizz of her bioelectric field as they touched--the same as he had when Ahlenn had touched his lips all those years ago.

He jerked away quickly.

"Did that hurt?" Amaar asked, her concern apparent in her musical voice.

"No." Tucker said ruefully. "It's just that the last time I touched one of your people--"

"--you ended up with me," she finished for him, humor sparkling in her bright green eyes.

"Well, yeah," he said, answering her smile.

"I'm sure you must have many questions, Commander," Amaar said, turning back to business. "Is there somewhere we can go to talk?"

"Yeah, but if you don't mind we'd like you to visit our sickbay first, just to make sure you are who you say you are. Sorry." Tucker shrugged apologetically.

"You are suspicious?" Amaar said quizzically.

"We've learned to be a lot more cautious about who we let on board since we last met your people," he explained.

She nodded. "A wise precaution. I will follow you to your sickbay."

* * *

"Well?" Tucker said impatiently as Phlox glanced up from his scanner.

"Your genome is identical to the scans I took of the embryo while it was implanted in Mister Tucker six years ago." The doctor addressed his comments to Amaar. "However, your physiology seems somewhat unusual for a Xyrillian."

"You mean my ability to tolerate a low-pressure environment? Our physicians noticed it when I was a child. They believed it was a result of my unusual developmental process."

Phlox nodded sagely. "It's possible that your exposure to our environment early in your embryonic development made you better able to withstand it as an adult."

"If you don't mind, Doc, Amaar and I have a lot to catch up on," Tucker interrupted. Now that they had verified the young woman's identity, he was anxious to learn more about her. "You're clearing her, right? I can show her around?"

"Of course, Commander," Phlox replied as Tucker helped Amaar down from the biobed. "Feel free to drop by anytime," he called after them as Tucker ushered Amaar out of sickbay.

* * *

"Maybe you should start by telling me about Ahlenn," Tucker said as they settled into the small aft lounge--the one that looked over the warp nacelles. It had always been Tucker's favorite place to just sit and think. "What happened to her once she got home to...Therra, wasn't it? What's she doing now?"

Amaar sighed sadly as she sat down beside him on the couch. Ever since she had come on board, Tucker had been unable to take his eyes off the young woman's bright green eyes, her iridescent dermal plating, and her figure-hugging silver garment. "My mother died a few months ago."

Tucker felt the pit of his stomach tighten. "How? What happened?"

"Old age, Commander."

"Call me Trip. But surely Ahlenn wasn't that old?"

"Yes, she was, Trip. Xyrillians age approximately five times faster than humans."

As she said it, Tucker realized she was making sense. Phlox had estimated that his pregnancy would have lasted about eight weeks if it had run its course, and now, six years later, Amaar appeared to be a young adult. But he still felt an unexpected sense of loss at the thought that he would never see Ahlenn again. 

He regarded Amaar thoughtfully. "Is that what made you come lookin' for me?"

She stared at the floor and nodded. "Ahlenn and the man who agreed to carry me in your place parted as soon as the nurturing phase was complete, as they had agreed. It is...unusual on Therra to live only with one's female parent, and when I was old enough to begin to ask questions about my father, she told me about the alien engineer she had inadvertently impregnated." Amaar paused in her recitation. "She was truly sorry."

Tucker nodded. "I know. She told me."

"We both considered you to be my true father, and I've always wondered what you were like--whether you ever thought of me."

"Sometimes I did," Tucker admitted. He had thought of her much more in the last year, since Elizabeth. As he'd told Reed, he'd always assumed he would have children one day, but when the baby who had been cloned using his and T'Pol's DNA had lost her brief struggle for life, he had begun to reflect on his earlier experiences of fatherhood: on his dealings with Lorian, the half-Vulcan son from an alternate timeline who had ultimately betrayed him, and on the Xyrillian baby he had given up so easily. He had begun to wonder whether he would ever have normal, human children--and whether it would be wise even to try.

"After my mother died, I knew I wanted to find you," Amaar continued after a pause. "I'm an engineer, like my mother--like you--so I acquired a ship, and then made contact with as many alien vessels as I could until I discovered a trader who claimed he knew of your whereabouts. It was not easy to find you."

"I'm glad you did," Tucker said, realizing as he reached for her hand that it was true. Her bioelectric field sent a pleasant buzz up his arm.

"I followed your course for many days, but my ship is not as fast as _Enterprise,_ and its communications array is not as powerful. It seemed that each time I came close enough to hail, you would move away again."

"And we thought you were a sensor glitch." Tucker grinned. "Y'know, next time you go lookin' for someone, it might be a good idea to disengage the stealth device on your ship. That'd make it a whole lot easier for folks to see you once you found 'em."

Amaar looked startled. "Of course. I'm afraid I had forgotten about it--it is a habit among my people to cloak when traveling. We are quite reclusive by nature, and living so close to Klingon territory, it's wise to remain as unobtrusive as possible."

"Tell me about it," Tucker said, rolling his eyes.

Amaar straightened her spine. "The Klingons are an aggressive species..."

"No, no," Tucker said quickly, chuckling a little at the misunderstanding. "I didn't mean for you to tell me about the Klingons. It's just a figure of speech; it means 'I know what you mean.'"

"Ah, yes, I understand."

"We've had some dealings with the Klingons ourselves. In fact, there's one on board right now. Don't worry," he said, seeing her alarmed expression, "he's just a little kid. We're tryin' to return him to his family, but their colony's outside Klingon territory and the High Council don't want anything to do with him. We're havin' some trouble finding it on our own."

"Their ways are very different," Amaar agreed. "But I wonder...there is a concealed Klingon colony close to Xyrillian space. They value their solitude and do not bother us, except to trade. I wonder whether the child's family is on Dara'ath?"

* * *

Reed stepped into his quarters, his brows knitting into a frown as he took in the debris strewn across the bed and the floor. His normally neat, Spartan room looked as if a tornado had swept through it, which in a way it had, Reed thought, allowing himself a small, indulgent smile. Then he sighed, surveying the devastation one small child had wrought to his ordered life in only twelve days, and wondering where he should begin the cleanup.

It had taken them six days at warp 4 to reach Dara'ath, a small colony on the other side of Xyrillian space, concealed further by Xyrillian cloaking technology. Once they'd made contact, with Amaar's assistance, they'd learned that Daroc's grandparents were among the colonists, and they were more than happy to welcome him home. It was a further six days away from their assigned course, but at last Daroc was back with his own people. And Tucker's daughter had remained on board, her own ship now decloaked and sitting in _Enterprise_ 's launch bay. It seemed that she was as curious about Tucker as he was about her; both had spent a great deal of time getting to know the other. Reed had frequently observed them together in the mess hall and in engineering, poring over schematics and components, or simply talking and laughing together--at least, he assumed that the faint shimmering of the young woman's dermal plating was equivalent to laughter. He was happy to see his friend building a positive relationship with at least one of his children; the others, of course, were lost to him.

Reed had been caught off-guard by his own emotional reaction as he handed Daroc over to his grandparents. Despite the difficulties, he was going to miss the lively little boy, with his endless questions and requests for training. Daroc had been especially diligent in his tai chi practice, and he had made a solemn promise to continue to learn from the instructional video files Reed had given him.

"They're not as good as a real instructor," he'd told the boy, "but maybe some of your new friends will practice with you."

"Thank you, Malcolm-Reed," Daroc had said, and then he'd surprised Reed with a final tight hug.

Reed stepped forward and began to straighten the bed, intending to bring some semblance of order back to his quarters, but then he stopped, reconsidering. There was something he needed to do first. He sat down at his desk, shoving the half-dozen PADDs strewn across it to one side, and activated his console.

"Computer, begin recording," he said. "To Captain Stuart Reed, Kota Bharu, Malaysia, personal mail." He took a deep breath. "Hello, Dad," he began. The smile he gave the computer to record was genuine. "I know we haven't spoken in a while..."

* * *

"It's just as beautiful as I remember," Tucker said as he stepped out of Amaar's small ship and onto the dusty red soil of her home world. Like the captain's official delegation, they'd had a slow ride down to the planet, gradually pressurizing in order to acclimatize themselves to the planet's heavier atmosphere.

Amaar shot him a questioning glance. "I thought you had never been here before."

"I haven't, but Ahlenn showed me. There was a holographic chamber on her ship. That's where, um, you were...conceived." He blushed slightly.

"Yes," she said, laying a sympathetic hand on his forearm, "our mating practices must seem very strange to you."

"You can say that again," Tucker muttered.

"Our mating..." she obediently began, but then she paused, reading his amused expression. "Another of your figures of speech?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Nice to see you're catchin' on."

They strolled slowly into the city, Amaar pointing out places of cultural interest and many of her favorite childhood haunts as they headed for the seat of government, where Archer, T'Pol, and Hoshi were meeting with the Xyrillian leadership. Reed had drawn the short straw, and remained to command _Enterprise_ as she orbited the planet. Tucker, so obviously an alien among the shorter, hairless Xyrillians, garnered many curious glances. He found the city fascinating. It was like the interior of Ahlenn's ship, but on a much larger scale. Eel-like creatures swam along conduits next to the streets, and blue-green scented grass grew not only underfoot, but on the walls as well. He noticed that Amaar, in common with everyone else, would occasionally pick a clump and eat it. The Xyrillians were grazers in the true sense of the word.

"Why don't you try some?" she urged Tucker. "I tried your...pecan pie, after all."

Tucker shrugged, remembering that he had refused the last time, when Ahlenn had offered. "Sure," he said, picking his own handful and tasting it carefully. It was sweet and slightly flowery, not at all unpleasant.

The sun was setting by the time they reached the outdoor green where Tucker had arranged to meet the others for the journey back to the ship.

"So, what will you do now?" he asked Amaar as they stood waiting.

Her scales shimmered slightly, indicating pleasure. "My life is about to change significantly," she said softly. "It's another of the reasons I wanted to find you. My mate and I have decided to have a baby."

Tucker gave a small, incredulous laugh. "You mean I'm gonna be a grandfather?" he asked. He didn't feel old enough.

She shrugged, glancing up at him coyly.

"Well," he said as the doors of a nearby building opened, and Archer and the others emerged, taking their leave of half a dozen Xyrillians, "you keep in touch, you hear? I want pictures."

"It appears your captain has been successful in his negotiations," she replied, observing Archer's pleased expression, "so you may be seeing much more of my people in the future."

"Does that mean I can drop by and see my grandbaby when I'm next in the neighborhood?" he smiled.

"Of course."

"Are you ready to go, Trip?" Archer said as the three _Enterprise_ officers approached them.

"Just give me a minute, Cap'n," Tucker said. As Archer crossed the green, he turned, taking both Amaar's hands in his. "Goodbye, Amaar. I'm real glad you found me."

"As am I, Trip," Amaar replied, stepping forward and embracing him in the human manner, suffusing him with her life force. "Goodbye...father."


End file.
